


Instant Crush

by AraceliL



Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraceliL/pseuds/AraceliL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheik and Link discover something new about each other as they take a rare, peaceful rest from their ominous quest in the Shadow Temple. (Female Sheik)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instant Crush

** Instant Crush **

 

“Will I be out of here soon?”

The fire has almost died down, leaving nothing but slight crackles and vainly jumping sparks in its midst. A sparse circle of provisions surrounds our makeshift campsite, the leftovers of a cold hard meal, a few thin blankets, and the two of us, attempting to soak in as much heat from our meager fire as possible. A cold chill follows his question, and I try -- in vain, like the sparks -- to believe it is from the general eeriness of the Shadow Temple, with its leering, tight walls, rampant bones, and crushing ceilings, and not from my reluctance to answer.

I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes straight ahead, pressing on with the illusion of ignorance. We both know I’m choosing to ignore it, and I distract myself from the troubling thought with skittering fingers on my braid. True to my nature and his, he doesn’t pry, rather used to my silence, and I can almost feel rather than see his resolve stiffen in my absence of an answer. 

“I hate to complain,” he begins, a decisive sigh escaping his lips, “I really do, but sometimes -- I…” His voice, already low and meekly trying for some jest, chokes down to a whisper. I finally meet his eyes, raising my bloody orbs to reveal the truth he already knows. 

Here, on one of the dingy, dark floors of this sacred tomb, bones of the ancient dead creaking around us in ghostly, insubstantial noises, he seems to shine with a light, a vitality completely foreign to this deadland. His bright blue eyes, illuminated by the last remnants of the fire, bore into me, and I know he is searching desperately for my consolation, my comfort, but I have none to give, and I can see, far away, that he knows that. All I can tell him is the same words he’s heard over and over again: how thankful we are, how he is our Hero, how he’ll be talked about for millennia after his life, how important he is...but even I know none of that makes up for everything we are putting him through, and asking for it so selfishly.

Glints of gold flash in his hair as he moves closer to me, under the pretense of stoking the fire. I watch with gnawed lips as the steady noise of the flames replaces the moans of the dead, and fleetingly entertain the thought of how much I hate this place. 

He looks at me again. “Sheik.” It isn’t a question, it’s an order, one I dare not refuse. 

I sit up from my lounging position by the fire, bringing myself up cross-legged, struggling to compose my thoughts, whilst keeping my face remarkably serene: a special talent of mine. I owe it to him, to be a beacon of peace in a tumultuous and terrifying world, a world he was so unfairly thrust into. I was taught to be an unmoving force, a lifeline, a wise warrior of the Sheikah. And a part of me believes I can be that, even if I wrestle with containing my emotions like the true warriors.

Cornsilk blue meets veiled ruby. 

I’ve tried my damndest, throughout this cursed adventure, to keep my help shrouded in mystery, for both my protection and his own. Impa implored me to realize I was the most important person in Hyrule, that my safety from Ganondorf should be  the top priority, but I know it isn’t true. Hyrule will rise and breath again or have her breath slashed at her breast at the Hero’s hand. I am an important piece of the triangle, that I understand, but to think of a singular piece as most prominent is utter foolishness -- a triangle cannot not exist without three parts.

And for that reason I learned from my former nursemaid, studied at the feet of one of the last Sheikah, to live in the shadows, to take an active role so unlike my ancestors; how could I sit by while my cherished land was razed? I told myself I did it for the good of Hyrule, for my protection, and it was mostly true.

Mostly.

“Link,” I answer calmly, meeting his gaze without falter --

And there shines the eyes of the boy I met seven years ago, hope, bravery, determination linking me to him in a destiny neither of us chose, this burden he is forced to carry with nary a complaint: the perfect tool of the goddesses. There lies the eyes of the boy I fell in love with seven years ago, heart burning to a fray, awaiting on a prayer to hear his name. 

“Am I going to make it out alive?” His voice betrays no fear, nor do those eyes, and is far too casual and we both know it; the question catches me right where it hurts. My eyes widen, guilt flooding through me, finally enough to break the cracks on the dam I’ve spent so long constructing. 

Seven years, seven years pretending I wasn’t the one to send him to a fate stranger than death, and arguably worse because of. Seven years preparing myself to see him again, terrified of the resentment in his eyes I knew would be there, being shoehorned into this sloppy destiny, truly a game of drunken chess by domineering goddesses. Seven years sealing the chinks guilt made in my armor, armor absolutely vital to keep repaired.  If your feelings ruin this…

Am I going to make it out alive?

“Of course,” I choke out, attempting to keep my voice low and mysterious, and failing remarkably at that. “Yes. Of course.”

I seem to take him by surprise now. “Oh?” I hear him say, some relief cleansing the guilt slightly. I can hear the smile in his voice, that lovely, deep voice.

I look at him, eyes steady as possible as I try not to imagine all the horrible deaths he could encounter, refusing to let him know I’ve had nightmares about them for years -- seven, you guessed it. “Yes.”

He’s leaning closer to me, hands tapping idly on the dirt floor, torso swelling as he begins to chuckle ever so quietly, as though to avoid disturbing the ghouls. 

“What are you laughing at?” I can’t resist from asking, trying not to feel indignant, still struggling to reign in my tone. “These are hallowed grounds, hero.”

“And you’re telling me the dead never laughed, Sheik?” His smile, so dazzling, is beaming up at me as he lowers himself onto his elbows, lounging in the firelight. For a moment, I admire how easily he carries his adult frame, his adult worries, almost without blinking.

“Of course not,” I reply, trying to figure my way out of looking foolish. “But we should respect those who have passed.”

“And how is laughing disrespectful? People have told me that my whole life, and I’ve never understood.” The smile is fading on his lips, replaced by a look of contemplation. 

And I find that I can’t give him a proper answer.

After a moment or two, he looks up at me, an expression of slight smugness causing me to break and push him off balance. That rumbling laugh lights up the room again, making the death and despair seem far away, in a completely different world. He straightens himself out and completely lays down, arms stretched behind his head, eyes tracing the dirt ceiling. I watch him curiously, unsure of what to say, as I always feel around him.

“I was laughing,” he begins, inquisitive eyes never leaving the ceiling, “because that was one of the first times you’ve answered me without riddles.”

I eye him, unsure what to think. The majority of what has been said between us lies between cryptic warnings and outright help, with little place left for budding relationships. Regardless, personality is difficult to hide, and my longing to offer, if not friendship, at least support, has not escaped me completely. I steal away on nights like these, hoping to offer him company, companionship that I suspect he needs as desperately as I do. I tell myself, before transforming into Sheik, that this is necessary to save Hyrule, but I know better than to tell myself complete lies -- this is necessary for me to remain sane.

And, maybe, it’s necessary for him too.

“The rules of this game are precarious, Hero,” I finally decide to say. His eyes are steady, unyielding. “I am honored to assist you in any way I can.”

“A game? Is that all we are? Pawns?”

I open my mouth to say something, anything, when I find I can’t, and realize just how hot my breath is against my cowl. And against my better judgement, with Link watching from below, I remove it slowly, praying that a part of him, perhaps instinctual, perhaps carnal, will realize it as my offer for companionship: I am baring myself to him, hoping to prove that regardless of what the goddesses may think, he is not a pawn in my eyes, at least, however little that may be worth.

There’s a space of a few heartbeats where neither of us say anything, though I can feel those sharp eyes on me. All I can hear is the cackling fire and the occasional, ominous thud of my pulse, hot against my throat.

“You’re a woman,” he says suddenly, his voice solemn. I glance at him, drawn out of my awaiting state. 

“Yes,” I answer with some surprise, feeling a brief smile making its way to my face. “You didn’t know?”

He shrugs, as best as he can from the floor, still staring up at me with unabashed curiosity. “I suspected, but you disguise yourself well.”

We both give my body a once over, and I quickly hide my mounting interest -- and breathing. My whole body feels warm, tingly, and I pretend it’s from the stark heat of the fire. “What gave it away?”

“Your lips,” he says quietly, and there are those eyes, tracing over every curve, or so it seems. 

I hum in agreement, feeling my entire body reflecting that vibration, as I am unable to ignore the seductive light the fire casts on him, dancing sensually across his broad chest, offering me a tantalizing view of his muscles from his slightly parted tunic and flexed arms behind his head. 

“Who are you, really?” He finally breaks the electric silence buzzing between us, but his voice is gentle, and I turn away as he sits up, irrationally afraid that he’ll recognize me for who I am, despite literally masking my face with magic. 

“A guide,” I say, though my heart aches with the answer  Zelda.

“Sheik, you know what I meant…” His gentle prodding is matched by a feather-light touch of his hand on my cheek. I barely keep myself from gasping, fighting desperately to hold on to myself, remember my mission, remember everything for the good of Hyrule, not my own wanton desires, not for my childish crush -- 

And there’s his eyes, staring directly into mine, face so close I am almost dizzy with his warmth and musky scent. He’s brighter than ever, the darkness and doom of the place contrasting his personal light, fluttering around him like a halo. 

“You’ve helped me through everything,” he says finally, eyes dropping, offering me an excuse to shamelessly, hungrily trace every detail on his face -- the long, dark brown eyelashes glinting in the light; a scar tracing from the crook of his nose, snaking and fading out near his tear duct; bristly hairs lining his chin, still fine enough in his youth; the creases on his forehead as he seems to wade through his thoughts, already much too deep for someone his age. 

I am pulled out of my study as he looks up again. “Why?”

I feel a smile come gracefully to my face as the answer passes my lips. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Hero.”

He looks genuinely confused as I meet his eyes, stroke for stroke. The fire seems too bright, winking to my left, the light cascading up and along the mountains of emotions on his face, a deep and adventurous range begging to be explored. 

“I suppose I always assumed...I was  supposed to,” he says finally, sounding a bit sheepish.

“I understand why you thought so,” I say, taking a cautious second to shape my words to avoid having the goddesses strike me down. “The goddesses rather...enjoy a bit of added drama.”

A wry smile wrings across Link’s face, a pointed look under a raised eyebrow meeting my curious gaze.

“What?” I challenge, a tinge of playful annoyance coloring my tone.

“And  you don’t also enjoy drama?”

My eyes narrow on his growing smirk. “I don’t know what you mean,” is accompanied with a sniff. 

“Because speaking in riddles and ambiguous warnings is  so clear and helpful.” His boyish grin leaves tingles fireworking in my stomach, and I feel my jaw drop in mock offense.

“Oh I  apologize ,” I exaggerate, the artificial scorn leaving my voice as my heart soars along with his full-fledged laughter. He isn’t looking at me as his head falls back, chest heaving. I haven’t ever seen anybody laugh this gleefully, so blithely whilst surrounded by death. I get the feeling that it isn’t so much our joke, more so the opportunity to relieve some of the tension, and I am more than happy to oblige. “I didn’t realize I was hindering you so.”

He’s still laughing, and suddenly I realize I would do a lot more than I’d be proud of just to keep him laughing, to keep that joyous smile on his face.

“I suppose I’ll stop showing up when you need it, hmm? Let you figure out how to play magical melodies or learn how to walk across all of Hyrule? Let’s see you defeat Ganon--”

Abruptly I find myself on my back, firelight blinding me to my left and shocks of messy blonde hair to my right. Over me looms Link, face still warm and bright from laughter, and I find myself intensely aware of the closeness of our bodies, his muscular, sinewy arms on either side of my head, one leg propping him up between mine, chest still rippling with laughter and so close to mine.

“Oh, stop,” he teases, and squeezes my leg between his playfully when I stick out my tongue in response. “You know I’m intensely grateful for you,” he continues, and I feel my heart begin to race as something sparks in the back of those ice-blue eyes, so soft for diamonds. 

“Oh?” I try to keep my voice joking, but his eyes are flickering from my gaze to my lips as I lick them nervously. 

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice dangerously husky, seductively low, and I find myself drinking in the sound of that voice, struggling in vain to control the thumping in my chest.

I can only stare in awe at the strikingly handsome face as it lowers to mine, all pretenses of disinterest absolutely destroyed. With little surprise, I feel heat begin to pool heavily in my belly, an overwhelming ache that seems to throb.

“In fact,” he murmurs, voice heavy with anticipation -- surely he must notice my heart fighting to break my ribcage? the tremor in my thighs? -- “I think I’m...a little too…” -- his voice dives into a heady tone -- “... fond of you to let you get away that easily.”

His lips claim mine hungrily, passionately, and with little worry I feel myself slipping away into his hands, the tight grips at my hips, the heavy breathing between kisses, and dimly I wonder if the goddesses hate us for this distraction.  Regardless, I don’t care, I decide and turn into his roving mouth, letting every care float away and give myself up to this man, this hero, this boy I’ve loved for seven years, waited for for seven years, this instant crush of mine I could never seem to convince myself to forget. He’s holding me fiercely, protectively, and I feel his want begin to bleed into pure  need , hands, tongue, lips desperate for human contact, for the reassurance of being alive, of not being alone. His touches pull me into a lull of hope, of desperation, and with a worrying excitement I croon back a song of comfort, meeting him kiss for kiss, breath for breath, refusing to allow him to do this alone. 

Aggressive but not forceful, desperate but not overwhelming, his hands are at my breasts, gently, trembling. He seems unsure, and catches my eye with a pant and a pause. I nod back, unable to stop a grin splitting stupidly across my features, but he relaxes visibly at the smile and tenderly nips along my neck in response. Automatically I help him pull off the top of my Sheikah garb, unwrapping smothering bandages, the dirt and dust now at my bare back. I have no room to worry about if this is right, if this is sinful; my world has narrowed to his breaths warming my now-naked shoulders and exposed chest, his calloused hands a stark contrast to the swan-soft skin of my breasts. I sigh breathlessly, sound traveling through my throat and into his lips relentlessly.

Then his lips -- so soft, so warm -- are pressed softly onto my nipple, teasing the pink skin with a coaxing tongue until my sighs become needy moans from deep in my throat; my hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, his hair, his back as I lose myself in the tension coiling at the base of my spine, the warmth spreading between my legs. His other hand is working my other breast, lathering my chest in kisses, fervent tongue leaving wet trails for my fingers to follow in a daze.

His knee is pressed reassuringly between my legs, and involuntarily I buck against his leg, needing to get some kind of relief for the pulsing ache I feel there. I feel rather than see his grin against my skin, and spare a moment to kiss the smug look off of his face until I know his eyes reflect the intoxication in my own. He’s not the only one who can make someone come undone.

With this in mind, I reach down amidst his adoring ministrations along my nipples to grasp him through his leggings. I feel him stiffen in surprise, and very briefly I realize that likely I am the only woman who has touched him; the thought warms me to the very core, knowing that I’m not alone in my inexperience. I shuffle down to take more of him in my hand, and suddenly his mouth is purely for the deep, unadulterated groans being pulled from his chest, head lolling in the sensation. I shoot him a wicked grin as I work him out of his trousers, and the look he gives me back -- pure hunger -- is enough for both of us to work at removing my own pants hastily. 

I kick them off, returning to my spot below him, and go to grab his length in my hand again when he stops me.

“Sheik, is this alright?” Such a simple question, so sweet amidst the greedy, longing touches. His fingers trail longingly along the long plane of my stomach, fingertips claiming every inch as his.

I smile back gently, threading my fingers through his long hair, bringing his head to mine to press a chaste, long kiss against his mouth. “Yes,” I say, holding his gaze to lend him some of my conviction, my serenity. His returning smile is so warm I feel my heart almost break at the beauty of it.

He positions himself at my entrance, and my heart, already thumping, seems to speed up even faster; then, he’s pushed himself inside of me, and the feeling is unlike anything I’d ever imagined; with squirms of pain at the unusual length and girth inside of me, I let out a cry of pleasure, my word narrowed to the single point that is the contact between him and I. A guttural moan answers mine as he slowly pulls back out, my back arching into him for his return. My body seems to be made of lust, of single, firing nerves as everything he does -- a pull on the skin of my neck, a satisfied, wet groan, a hand toying with my breast -- sends me into a mewling, trembling mess. The only thing that exists is him, thrusting in and out, his hips rocking to meet mine; his eyes catching mine, the gaze so painfully intimate I can’t stop his name from leaving my mouth; his quickening pace in return. The building pressure is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, so wonderfully tense, so painfully high, until I feel as though I will positively break if he continues. He seems to share my sentiment, my name a mantra on his lips as I feel myself tightening, tightening, tensing, until --

My world splits apart, my shriek almost painfully loud, my body almost painfully pleasured, every nerve feeling like a live flame burning into my skin. Flushed, sensitive, and still sprawling and writhing with pleasure, I feel Link follow not long after, the warm sensation inside of me much more satisfying than I had ever imagined. 

He collapses onto my chest, still inside of me, spent, exhausted, sweaty, legs tangled carelessly with mine. I reach quivering hands to him, weaving a hand through his hair to stroke it affectionately, murmuring his name, his praise, anything to him. His hand reaches out from next to us to grab my other hand, and the small gesture flushes my skin anew, despite being naked below him. He pulls my hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to my wrist, then slowly pulls himself off of me.

The fire is still crackling, but barely. It registers in my mind dimly as my heartbeat begins to return to normal, my muscles screaming for relief. Then, in one swoop, I’m in the air, in Link’s arms, and a blanket is spread out below us. He sets me down gently, chuckling at the surprised look on my face, no doubt, and pulls another blanket on top of us.

I’m lying in the crook of his arm, still trying to catch my breath and regain my senses. He’s on his side, studying my face with what looks like anxiety, but I ignore him for a moment, still feeling his lips pressed so tightly to mine, his tongue on my breasts, his length inside of me. I commit the moment to memory for a brief second, praying hard that I won’t have to leave it a memory.

“Sheik?” His voice is apprehensive, and I turn to him, always a little afraid my bloody eyes will scare him off. 

“Link?” He seems to enjoy his name rolling off my tongue, so I say it one more time, letting my joy paint my tone. “Link.”

“Was that alright?” His eyebrows knit his handsome forehead together with worry, and I chuckle briefly at his ever-present concern. I take my hand and run it gently along his defined cheekbone. 

“Did it seem like I was enjoying it?” I grab a shock of hair and yank him to me so I can kiss him fiercely, sealing my answer.

Pulling back, his grin is honest, caring, adoring...much more than I expected for a spontaneous, passionate gesture, and making my heart absolutely fly with the hope. 

A few minutes pass as I feel sleep overcoming me, the heat of the fire trickling into my senses, Link’s musky scent and deep breathing serenading me closer and closer to rest. I’m feeling myself slipping when I hear a slightly reluctant whisper:

“Will you stay with me until the end?”

It’s ashamed, too quiet to have meant to be heard. I slowly open my eyes to see his sapphire eyes staring at me sadly, and my heart breaks as I finally see his true trepidation for this godforsaken quest.  Hyrule owes him so much more than she will ever be able to give. I owe him so much more than a gentle, comforting kiss, barely easing my own guilt, but for now, it is all I can give...except for one thing.

Perhaps Hyrule will never be able to repay her hero, but I can try. I have never before made a vow, and I will never will again, but I would do anything, everything for him:

“I promise.” 

**Author's Note:**

> First story of many I will be importing over from my fanfiction.net account, (under the same name), so thank you very much for reading! This is also my first attempt at anything as explicit as this, so let me know how I did! I would love some concrit for it, as, like I said, it's my first time. I'm new to this website so pulling myself out of my old ways might be a little difficult but I'm looking forward to writing again. Thank you! Much love, Ace


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